Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It was, in retrospect, an obvious lie. They were never going to make him an angel again. Actually, forget about retrospect. Crowley had known something was off before they even set foot in the Upstairs elevator, but Aziraphale was so full of hope about the two of them changing things for the better. Like such a thing was even possible. The Metatron and the other archangels had separated them nearly as soon as they exited the lift. Aziraphale went with Uriel to get settled into his new office, and Crowley had gone with Michael and the Metatron to, he was told, complete his angelic restoration paperwork. The facade dropped as soon as the door closed behind them in the bare, stark white chamber they intended for his prison cell. Of course he tried to fight, but they were two Archangels with the full power of Heaven beneath their feet to draw from, and he was just a rogue demon without even a tire iron to wield. He’d burned enough of his power reserves from the stunt with Maggie and Nina and the awning that that they were still recharging, and nowhere near full enough to take on such powerful beings by himself. But he’d be twice damned if he went down without a fight. If he could hold out for long enough, Aziraphale would notice he was missing and come looking for him. His angel wouldn’t abandon him. Not now.

Crowley crouched, ready for the looming fight, but then the Metatron said, “I wouldn’t if I were you, demon. Not if you want your Aziraphale to remain unharmed.”

Crowley grinned. “You can’t touch him. We’re both immune to hellfire and holy water -”

“But he’s not invulnerable to Falling, now, is he?”

The smile faded a little, but Crowley refused to give in to the smug bastards. “Maybe not, but you’ll still have the same problem. You can’t kill us. You’d have to keep us both in here, torture us together.”

“Or,” the Metatron countered, examining his cuticles disinterestedly, “We send him to Hell and let them deal with him. I’m sure they have all manner of ways to deal with a disappointing demon. But you’d know all about that, wouldn’t you, Crawly? Or perhaps, a few edits to the Book of Life will be a more effective punishment. You’ll know all about that too, won’t you, Rafael.”

Indeed he would. He did. Aziraphale, what have you gotten us into now?

“What do you want from me,” he asked.

“Behave yourself,” the Metatron replied, as if scolding a naughty child. “Be a cooperative prisoner, and no harm will come to that disgrace of an angel.” And really, what choice was there after that?

Crowley’s captors bound his powers with runes and sigils, forced out his wings and stripped the feathers, and bound his corporation with chains forged from heavenly blades. He made no move to stop or slow them down. Heaven may have lied about turning him back into an angel, but they always delivered on their threats. He was living proof of that. It was too late for him, but maybe he could still help Aziraphale while he figured out a way to make things better. If anyone could, it was his angel. And then, maybe after he had sorted out everything else, Aziraphale would come and save him too.

It was that thought that kept him from breaking completely during the brutal punishments that followed, and when the Metatron came to gloat over him in the aftermath of those sessions.

Aziraphale will find me.

Aziraphale will find me …

Aziraphale will …

Aziraphale …find me. Please.   

Aziraphale sat at his new desk, gleaming white surface buried under stacks upon stacks of what he had been informed by Uriel was his on-boarding paperwork. He rolled his eyes as he filled out his angelic ID at the top of the form for the umpteenth time, wishing that Crowley would return and at least try to keep him entertained. He smiled thinking of the demon. Former demon, he reminded himself firmly. He’d been ecstatic when Crowley accepted the Metatron’s offer, even if it had seemed a bit reluctant if Aziraphale was honest. Still, they could be together AND make heaven a better place. It was a dream come true! The fact that Crowley could be an angel again was just icing on the cake. Now if only the former demon in question would come back and help him wade through all this ethereal bureaucracy -

“Settling in, are we?” a voice asked from the suggestion of the door. The newly instated Supreme Archangel looked up from the sea of papers. Metatron took up the doorway, a familiar blue coffee cup in hand. “I thought you could use a pick-me-up, courtesy of your human friends.”

“That’s very kind of you,” Aziraphale sighed as the other archangel approached, his hopes of a reprieve thoroughly dashed for the moment. “I hope Crowley’s reinstatement process was less - comprehensive than this.”

“Ah well, Archangels aren’t ordained every day you know,” the Metatron chuckled and set the coffee cup down on the desk. Aziraphale caught a whiff of oat milk and almond again. Then the other Archangel sobered. “And as for the demon Crowley-”

“Former demon,” Aziraphale frowned.

“Current, I’m afraid,” the Metatron replied, shaking his head. “It appears your friend had second thoughts about reinstatement. He’s gone back to earth. Said it was more, and I quote, ‘his style’”.

“He didn’t even come say goodbye,” Aziraphale murmured, the ghost of a heart he no longer had lurching strangely. Crowley, why didn’t you tell me you didn’t want to come back? I would have understood. You didn’t have to lie to me, not about this.

“I’m sure he had his reasons,” the Metatron said gently, coming around and putting a hand on Aziraphale’s shoulder, and slid the coffee towards him. “And if he’s not fully invested in helping you, then you’re better off being unencumbered. Besides, it’s not like you can’t visit him on earth.”

“I suppose,” Aziraphale said hollowly, taking a swig of the bitter latte to find some source of comfort. “Yes, I can always visit him on earth.” Would he even want to see me? I wish I’d gotten to hear what he wanted to say before I told him about Metatron’s offer. Was he angry I’d stopped him? He sighed, swallowed past the lump in his throat and looked back to the stack of papers he still had to complete. All for the greater good. I can still make a difference here without you. Although I’d much rather you were here. He reached for his pen.

“That’s the spirit,” the Metatron said brightly with one last squeeze of his shoulder, and turned to go. “I’ll leave you to it.”

Aziraphale didn’t acknowledge the other being as he left, had gone back to filling in his forms. They were easier to get through, suddenly, now that he was finding some semblance of rhythm with the task.

I ’ll get this done, and then the real work begins.

It ’s better this way. No distractions. For the greater good.

I wish you ’d said something, Crowley. 

Chapter Text

Being the Supreme Archangel wasn’t all it was cracked up to be, Aziraphale found.

As a principality (and a demoted one at that, after the whole business with the flaming sword), he wasn’t consulted on matters of policy. As the Supreme Archangel however, he would be able to create policy. At least that was what he had assumed when he’d accepted the Metatron’s offer. Thus far, the reality of the situation proved to be very different.

Aziraphale paused his lecture on how to prepare and drink tea in various cultures on Earth to gaze out across the nearly-empty classroom. A handful of angels slouched at desks, not bothering to hide their boredom. Angels didn’t sleep, but a few of them seemed to be giving it the old college try, as humans say. He couldn’t exactly blame them. He felt like nodding off as well if he was being honest. The Metatron had insisted on offering these “Humanity classes” as he’d termed them, to help prepare the Heavenly host for spending time on Earth in the wake of the Second Coming. What the Metatron had failed to do, however, was make classes mandatory or leave the topics up to Aziraphale’s much more experienced discretion. Hence the most recent tea debacle. He wished that was the exception as opposed to the rule. When he wasn’t teaching, Aziraphale was buried under stacks of paperwork that only seemed to end when it was time for his next class session. And when he somehow managed to find a spare moment outside of those two tasks, more often than not he was summoned to some self-congratulatory meeting that could have easily been an interdepartmental memo, where his fellow Archangels informed him of the progress of the next phase of the Great Plan, applauding him on his non-existent leadership.

In short, Aziraphale was miserable, alone, and missing Crowley terribly. He sighed heavily. “Thank you, everyone. I think that will be all for today. You’re dismissed. Be sure not to miss my next class on” - oh good Lord - “the phenomenon of the American Beanie Baby fad of the late twentieth century.”  The angels in attendance roused themselves and shuffled off, very unlikely to attend his next class. He wished he could skip it as well as he rumbled off to his office. Unfortunately, he didn’t make it all the way there before the Metatron found him, paper coffee cup in hand as usual.

“Hello, Supreme Archangel! How goes the work?”

“Just swimmingly,” Aziraphale answered with a brittle smile. “Although, I really do think things would go even better if you’d approve mandatory attendance for my -”

“Splendid, splendid! I just knew you’d be the angel for the job! And here,” the Metatron interrupted, handing him the coffee cup, “Your usual.”

That I’ve never asked you for and don’t particularly want. “Thank you, that’s really too kind.” Eventually, and after much more mundane conversation than was necessary, Aziraphale finally managed to shake off the Metatron and retreat to the relative sanctity of his office. What he wouldn’t give to see an actually friendly face right now, even if it was Crowley’s making fun of him over how miserable the whole situation was. No, that wasn’t fair. Crowley might have abandoned him without a word and had had a habit of teasing him, but there was never any genuine cruelty to it. And if Crowley had changed his mind about returning to Heaven, Aziraphale was beginning to think that he’d had the right of it. The thing he didn’t understand was why Crowley hadn’t simply told him he’d changing his mind instead of vanishing back to earth. He would have understood, wouldn’t he? Something cold bloomed inside of him as a memory resurfaced. Summer. The bandstand. A confrontation.

We ’re not friends. We are an angel, and a demon.

I don ’t even like you.

There is no ‘our side’, Crowley.

Had the Demon really believed that Aziraphale meant that? He’d been trying to protect them both, create a little plausible deniability against retaliation from their respective sides, but - maybe Crowley didn’t know just how much he meant to Aziraphale. During their brief stint as free agents, Aziraphale had tried to show the demon just how much he valued their friendship. Four years compared to six thousand, however, probably wasn’t enough to undo the existing damage.

Aziraphale sighed again and took a deep inhale, catching a whiff almond notes from the latte that for some reason turned his non-existent stomach. The paperwork re: the Second Coming to be approved and signed was piling up on his desk again in towering stacks. He had classes to teach, meetings to attend. Supreme Archangel duties to attend to, such as they were.

He miracled a bin and dumped the untouched latte into it before vanishing it into the ether again, and then summoned up the translucent map of Earth.

He needed to talk to Crowley.       

Chapter Text

Aziraphale exited the elevator and was almost knocked off of his feet by a wall of sounds, smells, and sights from the streets of Soho. After so much time in Heaven, with its sterile quiet and cleanliness, his senses simply needed a moment to readjust, and then everything would be tickety-boo once more. He hoped. Straightening his bow-tie, he crossed the road and stepped back into his beloved book shop.

“Good afternoon fellow human person - Oh, Supreme Archangel!” Muriel emerged from around a mercifully still-full bookshelf and stopped in surprise. “I had no idea you’d be visiting today. If I’d known, I’m sure I would have-”

“That’s quite alright, Inspector Constable,” Aziraphale said with small grin, prompting a laugh from the scrivener. “I wanted to see how you were getting on.”

“Oh, that’s so kind Supreme Archangel, thank you! I think things have been going very well, if it’s not too bold to say so.”

“Not at all, Muriel. And please call me Aziraphale.”

“All right,” they replied, shifting around on their feet, perhaps nervously. After a pause, they giggled. “Aziraphale. Your friends have been so helpful teaching me more about humans and how to…how did they put it? ‘Blend in better’. I never realized there was so much to learn. It’s fascinating!”

“I’m sure Crowley appreciates having such an enthusiastic student-”

“Not Mr. Crowley, sir,” Muriel interrupted, shrinking apologetically. “Miss Maggie and Miss Nina. They stop by every so often. They’re very nice, and very patient with me. I know I have a lot to learn, and they ‘re so kind to answer all of my questions. Not that Mr. Crowley wouldn’t be, I’m sure! I just thought - I haven’t seen him since you both left with the Metatron. I’m sorry.”

“Ah, no need to apologize, dear,” Aziraphale sighed. He was disappointed, but couldn’t in all honesty say he was surprised. If Crowley had changed his mind about being in Heaven with him, why would he spend any time at all in the place that was arguably the most Aziraphale-charged place on earth. It had been a long shot, but he’d had to start somewhere and it was good to see his books, the shop, and Muriel again. “I’m glad to see you’re doing well, and I won’t keep you from running this fine establishment any longer. I think I’ll pay our mutual human friends a visit and catch up with them as well.”

“Well, you’re a sight for sore eyes, Mr. Fell,” Maggie beamed at him from her seat at the front of Nina’s cafe. Nina herself waved from behind the counter, but had to tend to her very long line of customers. Aziraphale returned the wave and sat down across the table from Maggie.

“It’s lovely to see you too,” Aziraphale replied, meaning it with his whole heart. “How is the record shop?”

“About the same as it was, although people have been getting back into vinyl lately so I’m hopeful sales will pick up. And it helps that I get to go home to someone after.”

Aziraphale followed her gaze to the blur of the woman at the counter, and smiled softly. “The two of you were able to work things out, then?”

“We got together, officially, about six months after your ‘interference’” Maggie laughed.

“I’m sorry if we made things more difficult for you in the long run,” Aziraphale began, but Maggie shook her head.

“Neither of us have any regrets. Honestly, this has been the best five years of my life, and I owe part of it to you and Mr. Crowley.”

Aziraphale fumbled for a response. Five years had passed on earth while he was in Heaven, and it had barely registered. “I’m so glad to hear it…”

“How are you and he getting on? Did he sweep you off your feet and whisk you away to a romantic little cottage in the country?”

Aziraphale gaped at her. After a moment, Maggie’s face fell. “Oh no, Mr. Fell, I’m so sorry. He was going to talk to you, and then you both vanished together and we just assumed-”

“We did go together,” Aziraphale murmured, staring at the laminate peeling up from the corner of the table. “And then he changed his mind and came back here. Or at least, that’s what the Metatron said -”

“That creepy old man who wanders into the shop from time to time?” Maggie shivered at the very thought. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. He’s your friend-”

“Decidedly not,” Aziraphale corrected sharply. “Apologies, my dear, go on. He’s been coming to the coffee shop?”

“At least twice a month,” Maggie nodded. “Always gets the same order.”

“Let me guess, an oat milk late with a shot of almond syrup?”

“How did you know?”

“Call it a hunch. And you’re sure you haven’t seen Crowley. At all?”

“No, I’m sorry. Mr. Fell, is everything alright?”

“No Maggie, I beginning to think it isn’t.”

Crowley’s Mayfair flat was empty, but that wasn’t the most surprising given that Shax had occupied it immediately before. His rapidly dimming hope that somehow everything was alright tried to suggest that he’d simply relocated after leaving Heaven, but it wasn’t convincing. The thing that broke any remaining optimism about the situation was finding the Bentley, abandoned and gathering dust, in the private car park where Crowley had miracled it before they’d left. It hadn’t been moved, or even touched, in years and Aziraphale could no longer deny that something was very rotten in the state of Denmark. And had been for some time.

The Supreme Archangel rushed back to Heaven and his office as quickly and discretely as he could. No one stopped him on his way, and once safely back in his own domain he pulled up the ethereal model of Earth. Then changed the scale to look at the whole solar system. Then outside of it to the larger Milky Way. Two little blips at Alpha Centauri, but no Crowley. He shifted the scale again, hopping from galaxy to galaxy, but it was no use. He wasn’t anywhere.

Crowley was just gone.

Chapter Text

It had been ridiculously easy for Aziraphale to get his flaming sword back. The angelic quartermaster - who had not so long ago derided him for his perceived deficiencies as an angelic warrior in the run-up to Armageddidn’t - handed the sword over without batting an eye. After receiving the current Supreme Archangel’s signature on the appropriate forms, of course. Walking away, Aziraphale tightened his grip on the hilt, squared his jaw, and readied himself for his next appointment.

With a pop and the brief reek of sulfur, Shax appeared in the fresh summoning circle Aziraphale had just drawn on the floor of the bookshop. The newly appointed leader of Hell snarled and raked ineffectively at the wards. A corner of Aziraphale’s mouth ticked up. “I’m afraid you’ll find those wards are quite strong. You’re here until I say you can go.”

“You’ve got some nerve trapping me here. I could bring all of Hell down on you before you could raise that sword of yours.”

“Yes, you could do that,” Aziraphale replied with a cold edge. “And then I could call all of the Host down on your forces and we could let them destroy each other and ourselves. Or, you could listen to my offer.” He locked eyes with the demon, and let her consider in silence a moment. Finally, she crossed her arms and huffed in irritation.

“Fine. What exactly is it that I’m being offered?”

“The continuation of your miserable existence,” Aziraphale replied, and ignited the flaming blade. “I don’t care what you’ve done to him, if you give Crowley back to me, I’ll let you go back to Hell unscathed and you’ll never see us again.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, you stupid angel,” Shax growled back, shrinking slightly from the holy flame but still vicious. “We haven’t done anything to - ah.” The demon drew up suddenly, a razor-sharp smile spreading on her lips. “You can’t find Crowley, can you? Well, Mr. Supreme Archangel, we don’t have him. Could there be trouble in paradise? Did he finally get bored of you and - no, that’s not it. You lost him, and you thought we had him. There is trouble in Paradise, isn’t there? And you didn’t see it.” Her voice dripped venom, and Aziraphale had had enough. He raised the blade, stepped toward the circle, and slashed downward. The portal to Hell disappeared, taking Shax with it. Absently, Aziraphale toed the scorch mark in the floor that broke the warding sigil, and extinguished the sword. That answered that then.

The thing was, Aziraphale had never considered himself to be a stupid ethereal entity. Idealistic to a fault, stubborn, set in his ways, too prone to indulgence; those faults he’d own to, however reluctantly, but not stupidity. Now, though, he reconsidered. Crowley hadn’t come back to Earth, and hadn’t been captured by the forces of Hell. Only one possible answer remained, and Aziraphale felt furious with himself for not seeing it, not considering it sooner. Heaven had never made Crowley an angel, had never intended to, and they still had him. Aziraphale had dallied for five years while Crowley was in their clutches, doing whatever they wanted to the poor demon. And Aziraphale had thought he’d been abandoned, had believed and mired himself in boredom and apathy and done nothing. He was going to be sick.

“Supre - Aziraphale? Is the demon gone now?”

“Yes, Muriel, she’s gone. You can come in.”

A second later, Muriel’s curly head poked through the doorway. “Did she tell you what you wanted to know?”

“Yes, she did,” Aziraphale replied bitterly. Muriel frowned as they walked deeper into the back room. He tried his best to put on a weary smile.

“They didn’t have Mr. Crowley, did they?”

“No, my dear, they did not. But now I know who does. Thank you, Muriel, for letting me use the bookshop again. I won’t trouble you any further.”

“You’re going back to Heaven. To save him, aren’t you?”

“I have to.” Aziraphale’s voice broke. “I’ve already wasted so much time -”

“You know, Mr. Crowley let me arrest him so that he could get into Heaven. He could have hurt me, forced me to take him back Up, and killed me once we were there. But he didn’t. He was - kind, even if he didn’t want anyone to see it.”

“What are you saying, Muriel?”

“That if you needed a place to stay after - whatever it is you’re going to do, it wouldn’t be trouble to have you here at all.”

“Muriel, this is my choice. Are you sure you understand what you’re -”

“Earth isn’t anything like what Heaven told me it would be. It’s better. And I don’t think that I want Heaven to end it. Not when there are still so many books I haven’t read yet.”

Aziraphale dropped the extinguished sword against the white wall of his office and sank down into his chair with a grown. Muriel’s assistance would be helpful to say the least, but there were other considerations to be addressed. The stack of papers on his desk had grown exponentially in his brief absence but he ignored them. Instead, Aziraphale called up a form index from the ether, scrolled through it a while until he found the one he wanted, and miracled it into existence. Quickly, before anyone could interrupt, he filled out the form, folded it carefully, and slipped it discretely into the inner pocket of his gleaming white coat.      

Chapter Text

It took him more time than he was comfortable with to locate the room that likely served as Crowley’s holding cell. Public meeting rooms in Heaven operated in a quantum state. They existed when you needed them, and blinked back into nothing when you didn’t. If it helps, think of a tiny bubble universe stuck to the side of the bigger bubble universe. Except that this isn’t actually like that at all. Right. Moving on. Rescue. A cursory search of the index of rooms currently in existence yielded a distressingly lengthy list, but that had proved easy enough to winnow down to a handful of potential options. Aziraphale pretended to work on more meaningless paperwork until a quieter interval with fewer members of the host passing to and fro between planning meetings, choir practice, viewings of the Sound of Music, and the like. He’d even recently scheduled another class session for a little later on, which he hoped would allay suspicion a little longer and give them more time to escape to earth. The soon-to-be-former Supreme Archangel walked with more confidence than he actually felt toward the first room on his list, which had been identified as reserved for ‘weapons testing’. It had been in existence for approximately the right amount of time and if the room’s current official purpose gave any hint about the nature of Crowley’s captivity, then the sooner he got the demon out of there, the better.

Aziraphale reached the quantum door, applied his miracle passcode, and pulled on the handle. It didn’t budge. His mind raced. He couldn’t afford to waste time, but he also couldn’t afford to walk away without ruling out this room. And if Crowley was in fact behind this door, he needed a way in. As Supreme Archangel, his miracles could open any door, access any file in Heaven. Or so he had been told. Another lie, of course. To say he wasn’t surprised at this point was an understatement. He just needed a moment to think, revise the plan, and then -

“It won’t open for you. But then you’ve already figured that out.”

Aziraphale spun around and came face to face with Saraqael, who must have floated up silently behind him while he was distracted.  

“I-I don’t have the faintest idea what you’re talking about. I was merely investigating some discrepancies I noticed while,” Aziraphale stammered, willing himself to be calm. There was far more riding on this than just his own status. He had to get Crowley OUT.

“Well, as I said, it won’t open for you,” the other archangel repeated. “But it will open for me. Let me through, won’t you?”

Aziraphale gaped but stepped aside to let Saraqael through. There was the sense of a miracle pinging through the ether, and then the quantum door slid open silently. Saraquael looked back up at Aziraphale with the quirk of an expectant eyebrow.

“Not that I’m not grateful, but -”

“Why am I doing this?”

“Precisely. You don’t have to do this. And you didn’t have to help Crowley with the records before. You could have destroyed either of us, or at least reported us.”

“And you think I won’t after? No, you’re right. I owed the demon Crowley a favor from before he Fell. We were friends, in the early days.”

“And now?”

“I find that I don’t particularly like the turn that the Metatron has taken. There’s a streak of cruelty in him that he’s been actively feeding. You’ll see what I mean.”

Saraqael started to turn around, but Aziraphale stopped her with a gentle, “Thank you. For helping us.”

“Please don’t mention it.”

“My lips are well and truly sealed, I promise. But if it wouldn’t be too much trouble, would you be able to file this for me?” Aziraphale removed the piece of paperwork from his breast pocket and held it between them. Saraqael looked at it for a moment before it vanished and she began back down the hallway in the opposite direction.

The ‘weapons testing’ room was vast and bright. He didn’t see anyone else at first, so he started for the stark white horizon and kept walking. It didn’t take long at all for a familiar figure to appear, and once he did Aziraphale broke into a sprint. By the time he reached the demon, he felt vomiting, but not from the exertion.

Crowley - alluring, wicked, charming, dazzling Crowley - was unconscious and worryingly still; bruises and fresh lacerations oozing black ichor from a recent visitation of angels covered his face, bare chest, and legs where they showed through the tattered shreds of his beloved skinny jeans. Even in oblivion, Crowley’s face was drawn tight with pain and fear. But that was nothing compared to what had been done to his wings. They had been plucked bare, probably repeatedly. New growth was starting to come in, and Aziraphale’s stomach churned at the thought that those would probably be ripped out soon as well. This is all my fault. But I can wallow later, once we’re both safe. Aziraphale snapped his fingers and Crowley began to lower onto the ground and into his arms.

Only then did Aziraphale see the sword.

It was the fear of hurting Crowley further that kept Aziraphale from recoiling in horror. Those - those bastards had driven the blade of a holy sword through the large, thin bones jutting from his back. And healed the wounds with the sword in place. This was an injury that would require more time to remedy that they currently had to, and such an injury would ensure that any and all movements would be agony in the meantime. A cruel streak indeed.

“I owe you a dance when we get home,” Aziraphale said softly, cradling the unconscious demon as gently as he could. “We have to get there first, though. And I’m sorry, but I’m going to need you to be awake and help me.”

The demon remained motionless. Aziraphale tried shaking him gently, then a little harder. No response. Nothing. Panic started to rise in his throat. Had they done something to his essence as well as his corporation?

“Crowley, this won’t do. I need you to help me, you wily old serpent. Quit lounging and get up.” It was getting harder to speak. His throat seemed to be trying to close in on itself, no matter how he tried to clear it. “Please, my dear, I need you to wake up. If you don’t, I’ll - I’ll crash the Bentley! No, worse. I’ll drive her so far under the speed limit Madam Tracy’s scooter could pass us by. I won’t just turn it yellow, I’ll make it tartan! And unless you get up right now you can’t stop me.”

Nothing. Aziraphale’s vision clouded, and wouldn’t clear no matter how hard he tried. He was out of threats, and the only other thing he could think of to try was an act of utter desperation. Aziraphale moved his hand to cup Crowley’s cheek - and accidentally jostled the demon in just the right place. Crowley howled in pain and started to thrash, sweat breaking out on his brow as his eyes flew open.

“I’m sorry, Crowley, I’m so sorry!” Aziraphale cried as Crowley went rigid and then rasped out, “I’ll cooperate, just leave him alone. I promise I’ll do what you say, do what you want. Just leave him be - Aziraphale?”

“Yes, I’m here,” the angle replied, shifting as gently as he could until Crowley was sitting up with less pain. Crowley cooperated at first, but then started growing agitated again.

“Ziraphale, you can’t be here. You’ve got to go!”

“We will, as soon as you’re on your feet again.”

“Nononono, they’ll hurt you if I’m not here. You need to LEAVE-”

“Out of the question! Keep walking forward, there you go. We’re almost at the door.”

“Aziraphale, please listen to me-”

“I am listening. I’ll keep us safe, I promise you.”

Either that calmed the demon, or the outburst exhausted him beyond being capable of anything other than slumping against the angel and trudging forward laboriously. They reached the door, stepped out into the main corridors of Heaven, and found themselves surrounded by a heavily armed collection of the host. Metatron, of course, stood at the front of the ring, a familiar cup of coffee in hand. “Ah, I’m so glad we found you, sir,” the Metatron said, the veneer of amity on his voice worn almost through. “I went by your office and you weren’t there. I’ve brought you your latte.”

“I’m trying to cut back, actually,” Aziraphale answered coolly and, without letting go of the semi-conscious demon, drew the flaming sword and waved it between the two of them and the encroaching host, occasionally marking the floor with long scorch marks.

“Such a shame,” the Metatron said, shaking his head. “Do I take it that this is your resignation as Supreme Archangel?”

“Well spotted,” Aziraphale replied, still waving the sword and leaving the occasional scorch on the otherwise immaculate floor. “Now, if you’ll excuse us, we’ll be on our way back to earth.”

“Come now, Aziraphale, you know that’s not how this is going to happen.”

“You’re right,” the retired Supreme Archangel sighed. “I didn’t think we’d be able to make it through the main gates. Thank goodness for shortcuts.”

With one last slash of the flaming sword, Aziraphale completed the scorch mark sigil and with a flash of golden earthly light, he and Crowley tumbled down through the floor and out of Heaven.      

Chapter Text

It was fortunate that Muriel had had the wherewithal to clear off the portal to heaven in the bookshop, some back corner of Aziraphale’s brain thought as he and Crowley crashed back into the building. Aziraphale did his best to position himself between the demon and the hardwood floor, and he knew upon impact he’d have to miracle at least a few of his bones back into one piece, but at least there wouldn’t be any damage to any of his favorite pieces of furniture. They’d taken quite some time to collect and curate.  It was possible, Aziraphale reflected after the thought about the furniture, that he was going into shock.

No. Not yet. Crowley still needed help.

“Supreme Ar - Mr. Aziraphale! Mr. Crowley! Are you alright?” Muriel’s frantic voice came from just inside the doorway to the room.

“As alright as we can be I think, Muriel, thank you,” Aziraphale groaned, trying to right himself while keeping the again-unconscious demon as still as possible. The rush from the escape was beginning to wear off, replaced by fatigue. His hands began to shake as he tried to maneuver Crowley into a somewhat-not-uncomfortable position on the floor. Distantly, he heard Muriel moving around and calling at the front of the shop. What felt like a split second later, Muriel was walking back toward he and Crowley, with Maggie and Nina in tow. Maggie clutched what looked like a first aid kit and a bag of pastries from Give Me Coffee, while Nina brandished a cricket bat. Their eyes grew wide at the sight of Crowley’s impaled wings, and Nina stepped closer to Maggie and gripped the bat tighter as she scanned for intruders.

“It’s alright, Nina, no one’s coming after us at the moment.” Aziraphale said wearily, having finally settled Crowley on his lap. The demon winced and mumbled quietly, but didn’t stir further. It was probably better that way, given the task ahead.

“But doesn’t this bookshop belong to Heaven?” Muriel asked, raising their hand hesitantly.

“On paper perhaps, but this bookshop has always been mine more than Heaven’s, and now that we no longer see eye to eye, they’ll have some difficulty gaining access right away. It’s not a permanent situation, but it will buy us time.”

“Should I go then?”

“Not unless you want to, my dear. I think you’ve helped Crowley and I enough to be exempt.”

“Oh, that’s good! If it’s all the same, I think I’d like to stay even though you’re back now.”

“Of course, Muriel, it will be lovely to have you. Now, though, I think I could use your help. Yours too.” Aziraphale looked to Maggie and Nina.

“Whatever you need,” Maggie said.

“First, we need to get him upstairs.”

The merciful lapses in awareness never lasted long enough, in Crowley’s opinion. He’d learned to relish the time he floated in nothingness, untethered to anything resembling sensation. Sensation meant pain in the hands of the Archangels. Awareness always crept in at the beginning of another session, laced with pain that he knew would only increase. This time was no different. Pain pulled at his arms and legs, dull this time. Sometimes the beginning of the pain was sharper, depending on what implements his captors chose. Sometimes it was a mix. Whatever they’d chosen to use with him this time incorporated a strange rocking sensation that was just disorienting enough to be unsettling. The unsettled feeling decided to turn into nausea, another new layer to his experience at the hands of the angels, and he groaned in some pitiful attempt at relief.

“I know, Crowley, I’m so sorry. We’ll have you somewhere more comfortable soon.” His angel’s voice filtered through the void as he rose closer to full awareness. No, this wasn’t right. Aziraphale couldn’t be here with him. Metatron and the others would get him too. Crowley was Fallen. He deserved the pain, was built for it. Aziraphale deserved to be safe. Crowley could give him that.

Piercing hot pain lanced through his wings into his back, spreading like lightning through his torso. The agony of it almost dragged him back into the void as a scream tore itself free of his throat.

“You’re alright, darling. I’m sorry that it hurts so badly, but we can heal your wings now. I’m going to take care of you.”

That was wrong. Crowley was the one who - “Aziraphale - no, you can’t - I can’t do that. Nononononono I have to feel all of it! That’s what they said. You’re not safe if I’m not -”

“Hush, darling,” Aziraphale’s voice said gently, seemingly ignoring the demon’s pleas. Not that that was new. “Sleep now, and dream of whatever you like best.”

The last thing Crowley remembered before the void claimed him again was a pair of bright blue eyes and a warm sensation of fading pain.

Aziraphale collapsed back into the chair in what had formerly been Jim’s room. The jagged remains of the blade that had skewered Crowley’s wings crumbled to rust in his hands. Good riddance, he thought darkly. Muriel huddled near Maggie and Nina, who were wrapped in a tight embrace on the other side of the room. It had taken all three of them to hold Crowley still while Aziraphale worked to remove the sword. The Metatron and the other Archangels involved knew exactly what they were doing when they’d inflicted Crowley with the wound. Its removal was guaranteed to be agony to not only Crowley, but anyone who cared about him who happened to be present. And the things the demon had said, how he had tried to stop him from helping. The angel thought he might vomit, if he had the strength for it.

Crowley himself, fortunately, seemed to be resting much more comfortably on the narrow bed. Perhaps the demon would take one of his legendary naps to recover. Aziraphale would wait for him, protect him, for as long as he needed. And if Heaven decided to do something foolish like try to take the bookshop in the meantime, well - he would protect Crowley to the bitter end. He owed him that, and infinitely more. Aziraphale hoped he would have time and opportunity to pay even a fraction of that back.

A muffled sob from the other side of the room pulled the angel back into the present. He was still a Principality, deep down, and he had other charges to protect. Trembling only a little, Aziraphale walked to the other three people and said gently, “I think we could all use some tea after that. I know I certainly could. Come along.”    

Chapter Text

“When Heaven ends life on earth, it’ll be just as dead as if Hell had ended it! Tell me you said no!”

A pause. Growing horror. This was it. Choose a side. Either way, you ’ll lose. Same old story.

A plea. “Tell me you said no.” Please, please tell me you didn’t do this to us, angel.

“If I’m in charge,” the newly appointed archangel replies with trepidation, then conviction, “I can make a difference!”

It ’s possible that, in some other universe, some other Crowley makes his case; one last pitch for running away to Alpha Centauri or maybe some other star system now that a certain former archangel and duke of hell have taken residence. There’s probably shouting, a fight, and maybe even an impassioned kiss that will only serve to backfire and drive them further apart, rather than bringing them together. Still, this other Crowley was brave enough to try, to lay himself bare even if he ends up losing everything again. This Crowley, here in this universe, isn’t that brave. Existence outside of Aziraphale’s orbit isn’t anything other than intolerable. Nothing about this offer from Metatron feels right, but he’ll go anyway. Like always, Crowley will be there to bail his angel out of trouble. Any way he can.

“Crowley?”

Right. Aziraphale is still standing there, so earnest and full of conviction that he ’s doing the right thing. And waiting for an answer.

Crowley takes a deep inhale that he doesn ’t actually need and then sighs. “Okay.”

“Oh Crowley, really? You mean it?”

“Sure, s’fine. I’ll go back with you.”

“This is wonderful! I promise you won’t regret it,” the angel cries as he dashes over and pulls Crowley into a tight embrace.

The hug should be comforting. He should be heady with it, this sudden close contact. The cold weight in his stomach, however, prevents the demon from enjoying the moment.

Wrong. Wrong. All of this is wrong. But what else can he do? It ’s Aziraphale asking, after all.

Aziraphale will find me.

Aziraphale will save me.

Better hope that he doesn ’t.

I deserve this. Give it all to me.

Can ’t let him suffer. Keep Aziraphale safe.

Give it all to me.

Aziraphale moved the kettle off of the stove just as it began to shriek. None of them needed to hear that right now. Carefully, he filled the four empty mugs full of not quite boiling water, and dropped a bag of chamomile into each. No miracles for this. He needed the familiar routine of making tea the human way to help him cling to any semblance of calm. He couldn’t go falling to pieces yet. Crowley still needed him.

This is all my fault.

The angel shook his head, then removed the tea bags and brought three of the mugs over to Maggie, Nina, and Muriel where they slumped in chairs around his small kitchen table. “Here,” he said as kindly as he could manage, “this will help.”

“How?” Muriel asked, voice still thick. And angry, which was a surprise. “How is this going to help anything?”

Even more surprising was that it was Nina who answered before Aziraphale could. “You’d be surprised what a good cup of tea can do. Why do you think I opened a cafe?”

“To make money?” Muriel guessed, and Aziraphale suddenly didn’t know whether he wanted to laugh or cry. Probably best not do either at present.

“Most days, yes,” Nina replied. “But when I first started I liked getting to know the customers, being able to give them a break in their day to take care of themselves a little. Felt like putting a little bit of good back into the world. I’d forgotten how that felt until about five years ago.” Aziraphale didn’t miss Maggie slipping her hand into her partner’s and giving it a squeeze. There were all at once too many people in the room.

“I should go check on Crowley,” Aziraphale said, clearing his throat and fleeing into the other room.

The demon hadn’t moved from where he was sprawled on the narrow bed, but his face was tense and he murmured unintelligibly. The angel pulled the chair close to the bed and planted himself firmly in it. Nothing, not even the full forces of Heaven and Hell, would move him from this spot until Crowley was awake or needed him. However long that took.

“Aziraphale?”

The angel almost jolted onto the floor at the sound of Muriel’s voice. A moment later, the scrivener came into his field of vision, carrying his abandoned cuppa. They handed it to him, and he just stared down at it for a moment, still reeling.

“You’re meant to drink it, you know,” Muriel said with an attempt at a smile.

“T-thank you for the reminder, my dear,” Aziraphale replied, trying to collect himself. He lifted shaking hands to his lips and took a small sip. “It was kind of you to bring it in here.”

Muriel looked from Aziraphale to the unconscious demon, and frowned. “Is he going to be alright?”

“If I have anything to say about it, he will be.”

“Will you?”

Aziraphale sighed, and stared long into the depths of his tea. “I’m not sure I get to be alright, Muriel. Not after all the pain I’ve caused him.”

“You’re not the one who hurt him,” the other angel observed.

No, I ’m just the one who delivered him into their hands and then got distracted with useless busy work for five years.

“Why don’t you go back into the other room with Maggie and Nina? I can look after him on my own, I don’t mind.”

Muriel pondered a moment. “Alright, if you’re sure. But you’ll let us know if you need anything?”

“Without hesitation,” Aziraphale replied brightly, and sagged with relief after Muriel left the room, seeming to buy the lie.

Somewhere around 3 in the morning, the nightmares resumed. Aziraphale had apparently nodded off himself (he really, truly hadn’t meant to and cursed himself inwardly for his lack of discipline) when he was woken by Crowley screaming and thrashing on the bed. The angel had miracled the room soundproof earlier in the evening so the other three beings in the small apartment above the bookshop could get some sleep. He could handle this. Aziraphale moved to sitting on the chair over to the side of the bed. The demon continued to thrash and howl, and Aziraphale’s heart ached for what his mind must be putting him through. As carefully as he could, the angel rested the back of his hand against Crowley’s serpent mark, stroking it softly.

“You’re safe now, Crowley, I promise. I’m not going to let anything happen to you. You’ll never have to worry about them hurting you again. I’d destroy them first.”

“Zziraphale?”

“Yes, Crowley, I’m here. You’re safe-”

“Aziraphale, what - what are you doing here?” Crowley’s eyes were open now, his already narrow pupils constricting as panic rapidly set in. “Wha-what’s going on?”

“Shh, it’s alright now. We’re at the bookshop. No one can get to us here. You’re safe.”

Crowley shook his head frantically, tears streaming down his face. “No, no we’re not. You’re not! They can find us anywhere, the Metatron said -”

“I don’t care what that bastard said,” Aziraphale hissed. “They’ll never have you again.”

“This is a dream,” Crowley murmured, relaxing back onto the bed as his eyes inched closed. “’S a nice dream, though. Better than they usually let me have.”

“Sleep now. You need the rest, and I’ll be here when you wake up.”

“Zira, would you-”

“Yes?”

“Hold me? While they let this last? They always change it before long, but while this dream is nice, would you -”

“Of course, my darling,” Aziraphale whispered, letting the endearment slip without caring much for potential consequences. He might not deserve to use it, but Crowley needed comfort, and so Aziraphale allowed himself to climb into the bed next to Crowley and wrap his arms around his lanky frame. “Sleep and have pleasant dreams,” he whispered into the other being’s ear, barely resisting the urge to bury his face in the demon’s neck and breathe deep.

“’S already nice. Hope I get to keep it a little while.”  

Chapter Text

Crowley had vanished from his arms when Aziraphale woke some time later. All remaining sleepiness left the retired angel as he was flooded with a potent rush of adrenaline and panic. He jolted up from the bed - only to be held down by an unexpected weight spooled over his middle and legs. Taking a moment to actually think allowed him to notice the large black and red snake of indeterminate species that had draped itself over him. He relaxed and sighed in relief, idly stroking a hand gently over the lustrous scales. “Hello, Crowley,” he whispered. The infamous Serpent of Eden made no audible response, but bunched himself up so that more of him was close to the section Aziraphale petted. Aziraphale smiled a little and took the hint. He kept it up until they both fell back to sleep.

Hours later, Aziraphale stumbled blearily down the stairs. Crowley wasn’t to be found anywhere in the small apartment above the bookshop, in any form. Fortunately, he spotted the demon almost immediately standing in front of one of the cases toward the back of the store. His relief faded rapidly, however, when he came closer and noticed Muriel standing off to the demon’s side, looking stricken. The scrivener noticed the other angel and said frantically, “Mr. Crowley came down about an hour ago and he’s been like this the whole time. He won’t answer me. I’ve tried everything I can think of!”

“It’s alright, Muriel,” Aziraphale said quietly, as he inched toward Crowley. The occult being’s face was alarmingly blank, his gaze dull and unfocused. He’d prepared briefly for something like this to happen. Hopefully it would be enough to break through. “Crowley. Crowley, my dear, can you hear me?”

After a moment, the demon gave a slow nod without turning away from the shelf. “That’s very good, Crowley,” Aziraphale continued hopefully. “I’d like to come over and stand by you. Is that alright?” Another nod, and the angel finished crossing to the demon’s side. “Thank you, my dear. I’d like to take your hand. May I?” That request certainly got a reaction. Crowley pulled his hand back as he shrunk away from the bookshelf facing Aziraphale in a defensive crouch. The angel worked very hard to school his reactions and reply in the same quiet tone, “You don’t have to, if you don’t want to. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do, Crowley. You’re safe here.”

The demon didn’t react immediately. Then, just as Aziraphale gave up hope that the request reached him, Crowley gingerly offered his hand. “Thank you for trusting me, Crowley,” he said, taking his friend’s hand with as light a touch as he could manage. He stepped in slowly, and raised the demon’s hand to his chest. Aziraphale took a deep, purposeful inhale and then let it out. “Can you do like I do? Deep breaths in through your nose and out through your mouth.” After a moment of dull observation, Crowley followed suit, and the pair of them spent the next few minutes just breathing together. Then, slowly, the fog over those beautiful yellow eyes lifted just a little; enough for recognition to dawn.

“-ziraphale?”

“Yes, Crowley, it’s me. Do you know where we are?”

“Looks like - lookslike th’ bookshop.” A pause. “Are we really here?”

“We’re really, really here my dear, dear Crowley,” Aziraphale said thickly, his vision growing inconveniently blurry.

“It doesn’t. Feel real.”

“I imagine that will take some time, but we’ll be here to help you all the way.”

“We?”

“’Ello, ‘ello, ‘ello,” Muriel said somewhat awkwardly with a tiny wave. “That was a joke. I know constables don’t actually say that.”

“Hey kid,” Crowley said wearily, but he smiled just a bit. Aziraphale’s heart leapt at the sight.

“Muriel, would you run across the road and see if Nina and Maggie will send over some herbal tea and pastries for Crowley?”

“Of course,” Muriel said and bolted out of the shop.

“I’m not hungry,” Crowley murmured in protest.

“Perhaps not, but it will help. And after that I think you should get back to bed. You’ve had quite the -”

“Thank you,” the demon interrupted, his voice so soft it was almost a whisper. “Thank you for getting me out of there.”

“Crowley, I - I’m not sure I,” Aziraphale began haltingly, but he was interrupted by the ringing of the shop bell and the arrival of Nina and Maggie; worry openly worn on their faces and hands full of delicacies from the cafe.

The couple didn’t stay long, especially not after Crowley started to rapidly droop with fatigue even with chamomile and sustenance. After the humans departed temporarily, Muriel busied themself with dusting the stacks, and Aziraphale helped support Crowley back up the stairs and into bed. The next few days repeated the same pattern. Crowley would wake, sometimes forgetting when or where he was and necessitating a repeat of the grounding exercises, grudgingly take nourishment when Aziraphale insisted, and altered between snake and human form. Aziraphale suspected that when things were too much to feel as a human-shaped being, occupying snake form was more effective for allowing rest and recovery. Aziraphale would let him take as much rest as he needed. He didn’t stray far from the demon’s side, ever-ready to defend and aid when he had failed so badly before.

By the end of the second week, Crowley was still frail, but more lucid than he had been after their escape. Aziraphale decided it was time to stop putting off looking at the damage to Crowley’s wings.

“We don’t have to now. It can wait,” Aziraphale sputtered, already trying to talk them both out of it. Crowley just shook his head.

“Nah. We might as well, rip off the band-aid or something. It’s not going to get easier if I wait, is it?”

“You’re still recovering, Crowley, and I -”

“It’s alright, angel,” Crowley said, startling Aziraphale out of any attempt at a rebuttal. “I can take it. You’ve coddled me enough already.”

“You still need coddling, my dear,” Aziraphale argued halfheartedly, but he knew it was a lost cause.

“It’s okay, Aziraphale. I know you won’t hurt me.”

But I already have. So badly, and so many times, Aziraphale thought bitterly as the demon unfurled his ragged obsidian wings into their current plain of reality.

“Right,” Aziraphale said, steadying himself and walking behind the demon to stand between his outstretched wings. “Is it alright if I touch them?”

“Can’t inspect them properly if you don’t,” the demon replied grouchily, but nodded.

“Thank you,” Aziraphale said gently, and then put his hands on the humeri he had so recently made whole. The miracle seemed to have taken well. The sections of bone pinned by the sword for so long and allowed to fester were healing and healthy. Feathers were starting to grow back in and would need attention before long. Aziraphale hoped that Crowley would do him the honor of letting him preen him when the time came. Not that you deserve such a chance from him, he reminded himself harshly. There would come a time when Crowley would no longer need to be taken care of and then - well, Aziraphale would cross that bridge when he came to it.

“Where did you learn that,” Crowley said suddenly, and the angel startled a little at the sudden interruption. “The - breathing thing.”

“Oh. It was mostly just in things that I read.” He neglected to mention that he had read those things his final days in heaven as he plotted their escape, preparing for every contingency he could think of.

“Well, it worked. Really well.”

“I’m so glad to hear it. Crowley?”

“Yeah, angel?”

“What did you,” the angel began, then stopped himself. He hadn’t earned the right to ask that question, let alone receive an answer. He sighed, stood, and headed toward the door. “Your wings are healing beautifully. I should let you rest. Do you need anything else?”

Crowley was silent for a moment, just fixed him with those striking eyes. Then, he looked away and muttered, “Nah. You’ve done enough, angel.”

“If you’re sure,” Aziraphale murmured back, hesitated a moment, and then walked out the door and down into the bookshop before he could open his mouth and make a fool of himself even more completely. He’ll be well rid of you when he’s fully healed, gloated the inner voice the angel could never quite outrun.

Chapter Text

“Um, I hate to be the one to tell you this, but I - I think Inspector Constable ruined your floors over here.”

“What?” Aziraphale exclaimed, dropping the book he’d been pretending to read and dashing over to where Crowley stood next to the desecrated summoning circle. The angel’s shoulders dropped back to their normal distance away from his ears. “Muriel didn’t do that. I did.”

Crowley looked away from the deep, scorch-tinged gouges breaking the otherwise neat white lines of the portal, his mouth hanging open in surprise. Aziraphale gave what he hoped was a casual shrug. “I couldn’t risk Heaven following us through when we escaped. Once you were - resting a little more comfortably, I took the flaming sword and severed the connection.”

Crowley looked back to the marks marring the hardwood floor. Aziraphale wished he could see the demon’s eyes, but Crowley had miracled up a new pair of sunglasses as soon as he could manage it and hadn’t taken them off since. The demon didn’t saying anything for a disquieting number of minutes, then muttered, “Glad I didn’t go off on Muriel. I don’t think they could take any accusations of wrong doing.”

“Oh, I think they might be able to handle it now. They’ve spent a few years on earth. They’re not exactly the same angel that they were.”

“Right.” Crowley said absently. The angel began to fidget with the worn edges of his vest. “Well, er, thanks for telling me before I took them to task, Aziraphale. I’m going back up to bed for a while.”

“Do you need anything before you go up?”

“Nah, just rest. I’ll come back downstairs when Nina and Maggie get here.”

“Mind how you go,” Aziraphale replied, watching the demon disappear back up the stairs into the apartment, and slumped back into his chair. He dragged a hand over his face. What he wouldn’t give to hear Crowley call him ‘angel’ again. He’d known that things couldn’t possibly go back to the way he and Crowley had been before this whole ordeal, but Aziraphale admitted to himself he hadn’t expected things to go quite this badly.

There were no issues with Crowley’s physical recovery. All his wounds, including his wings, were healing as well as could be expected. His mental and emotional recovery had, for lack of a better phrase, stalled. Aziraphale wasn’t surprised, but he was concerned nonetheless. And he had reason to believe that he was at fault. They’d yet to talk about Crowley’s ordeal and what he had suffered at the Archangels’ hands. Crowley hadn’t volunteered anything, and Aziraphale - cursing himself for a coward - hadn’t asked. Hadn’t felt worthy enough to pry, to initiate any conversation that didn’t revolve around trying to suss out and meet some need of Crowley’s. And Crowley hadn’t taken any of their conversations further. Every time they seemed close to reforging their past connection, Crowley went rigid and retreated back to the safety of the upstairs apartment to rest. The angel was left in the bookshop to stew in his own shame and inadequacy, and he knew that he deserved it. Perhaps if he hadn’t been quite so determined to be miserable, Aziraphale would have realized that Muriel, Maggie, and Nina were well aware of what was going on between them.

Maggie waited until Crowley had gone back up, Nina had returned to Give Me Coffee, and Muriel had returned to tending the bookshop. She found the angel staring forlornly at the bookshelves he was supposed to be reorganizing. “Aziraphale, I need to talk to you.”

“If this is about the rent, my dear, I promise you I have no intention of collecting -”

“It’s not about the rent,” Maggie interrupted gently. “It’s about Crowley. And you.”

“Me? What about me?”

“Muriel, Nina, and I are worried about you. Both of you.”

Aziraphale gave her a tight smile. “I appreciate your concern, Maggie, but I’m fine.”

“You’re not though.” Maggie took a step toward him and rested a hand on his shoulder. Aziraphale redoubled his focus on the shelves. They had grown frustratingly blurry. “The morning after those demons attacked the shop, before you left for Heaven, Crowley was going to tell you something. The two of you didn’t actually talk, did you?”

Aziraphale thought back to that morning, when everything changed forever. “Crowley didn’t get the chance. I didn’t give him the chance,” he admitted bitterly. “He told me there was something he wanted to say to me, but I wouldn’t let him before I gave him the good news from the Metatron. There was never a chance, after. I didn’t even think to ask him after we escaped.”

“Why would you? You’ve been taking care of Crowley while he’s been trying to put himself back together. But now he’s getting better and you’ve got enough time on your hands to start punishing yourself for a mistake you made -”

“That had horrific consequences for him!” Aziraphale cried at last.

“I’m not saying that it didn’t,” Maggie replied, her voice still calm. “But what you’re doing to yourself isn’t helping either of you. You should try asking him what he wanted to say to you.”

Aziraphale exhaled raggedly. “What if I don’t deserve to hear what he has to say to me? Or-or what if he doesn’t want to say it to me anymore?”

“That could be,” Maggie admitted, then looked him in the eyes and continued, “But how will you know if you don’t at least ask the question?”

Well, there really was no arguing with that.

Aziraphale found him, unsurprisingly, in the bedroom; sitting in the chair and staring at nothing in particular out the window. Not wanting to startle the demon, he knocked gently on the doorframe. “Crowley, can I come in?”

After a moment, Crowley tore his gaze away from the window and looked at the angel. “Don’t see why not, ‘s your shop, isn’t it?”

“Only technically, as I recall,” Aziraphale replied wistfully, thinking back to that conversation before he’d erred so badly and matters became complicated. He walked over to the currently-vacant bed and took a seat on the edge of the mattress closest to where Crowley had moved the chair. Their knees almost brushed together, but Aziraphale didn’t dare make contact. Not before they’d talked properly. “How are you feeling?”

“Tired, but - maybe not as much? It doesn’t all feel quite so heavy as it has.”

“I’m so glad to hear it, my dear.” Without thinking, the angle reached out and clasped one of the demon’s hands where it rested on his knee. They both froze. Panicking, Aziraphale withdrew, nervously making a show of straightening his vest. “Erm, right. Uh, I suppose I should - Oh, this won’t do at all! Crowley, if you’re up for it, I think we should to talk.”

“Okay, Aziraphale,” Crowley said softly, looking away. His eyes were still frustratingly obscured by those damned sunglasses. “I understand. When do you want me out?”

“Crowley, what on earth are you talking about?!”

“Aziraphale, I appreciate everything you’ve done for me, getting me out of heaven, nursing me back to health. But I’m better now and I’m sure you’ll want me elsewhere. You don’t need to sugarcoat it for me, especially not after I ruined your chances of going back to heaven or ever being Supreme Archangel again. Maybe I could stay with Nina until I find something more permanent. I don’t want to move back into the Bently again quite yet-”

“You’ll do nothing of the sort! I don’t want you to go anywhere, Crowley. I’m sorry I’ve acted so horribly the last few weeks. I just-”

“I know, and I don’t blame you, angel.” A warm glow blossomed in Aziraphale’s chest at hearing the demon finally call him angel again. That glow was promptly extinguished by said demon’s next words. “What I am isn’t your fault.”

“What-what you are?”

“Not quite one of the bad guys, not good enough for the good guys.” Aziraphale flinched as he heard his own terrible words echoed back to him. Crowley’s voice was terrible: flat, accepting. The angel would have preferred anger or bitterness. “Even if they weren’t going to make me an angel again, I could at least help draw some of the Metatron’s ire. He wanted to keep us apart, ya see. He was quite chatty during our sessions together. He’d tell me things he probably shouldn’t have. How he drugged you. How we were too powerful together, so he made you Supreme Archangel and me -” Crowley shuddered and then fought on. “Well, after a while I hoped you wouldn’t come looking for me so that he would leave you alone. And now I can’t even do that for you. Not that I don’t appreciate the rescue, angel, I do. And if I wasn’t good enough for you before as a whole demon, what good am I to you as a pathetic, broken-down wreck?”

“I’ve been the most horrible fool, and an awful friend,” Aziraphale answered softly, but insistently. He moved his hand back to grasp Crowley’s, and this time he didn’t pull away. The demon just stared at him. “I owe you so many apologies for so many things in all the time we’ve known each other, so I’ll start here: I’m sorry that a stupid decision I made put you in harm’s way, and that I ever made you feel like you were less than worthy. The last thing I want to do is cause you pain, and yet that’s all I ever seem to do.”

“Angel, it’s okay.”

“It’s not, and I’m going to do whatever it takes to make myself worthy of your care. Starting with our unfinished business from before this whole mess began. Crowley, what were you going to say to me, the morning I asked you to come back to Heaven? Say it to me now.” Aziraphale reached up and carefully pulled those wretched sunglasses away from Crowley’s beautiful yellow eyes. “Please. Tell me now.”

“Angel, I-” Crowley stammered, his eyes wide but not with alarm. Somehow, during their conversation, they’d grown closer to each other. Close enough to - “I don’t want Heaven or Hell. I only want you, whatever that looks like. I just want to be us. Say we can be us?” And Aziraphale was on him, closing the rest of the distance to press his lips against Crowley’s. Crowley kissed him back fiercely, grabbing the lapels of his antique coat as the demon allowed himself to be gently lowered down onto the mattress, kissed, and held by the angel; giving as good as he got.

“I want to be us, too,” Aziraphale murmured some time later when they’d stopped for proverbial breath. “I love you, Crowley.”

“I love you too, angel. I have since the Beginning,” the demon said sleepily from the cocoon of Aziraphale’s arms. “Tell me this is real. It’ll break me if this I’ve only dreamed this.”

“It’s real, darling. And I’ll still be here when you wake up.”

“’Darling’, ha. So it really was you. I wasn’t just dreaming.” Crowley burrowed a little further into the angel’s warmth, and promptly gave in to sleep. Aziraphale followed close behind.   

Chapter Text

Aziraphale woke next to Crowley whimpering, still otherwise asleep, in his arms. The angel frowned and gently pressed a gentle kiss to his love’s temple. That seemed to quiet the demon, and for a while Aziraphale dozed, just drifting until Crowley screamed suddenly and thrashed from his embrace. “Crowley?” Aziraphale called worriedly as the the demon stumbled down onto the floor. He miracled the lights on just enough to see Crowley curl himself into a tight ball on the floor, whimpering again with his hands over his head. Aziraphale quickly climbed out of bed and positioned himself next to where Crowley rocked miserably back and forth. He reached out a hand, and then thought better of it. Physical contact might make the situation worse with the demon in this state. He opted for a different approach.

“Crowley? Crowley, can you hear me?”

Crowley’s only response was to shudder and make another high, pained noise. 

“Crowley, please wake up. It’s me, you’re not - where you think you are. I’ve got you.”

“-ziraphale?” Crowley gasped, shaking now but awake. Light glinted off of the thin sheen of sweat that gathered on his skin. “You’re really here?”

“I am and I always will be,” Aziraphale replied gently, trying very hard to keep his voice from breaking. “Crowley, can I touch you?”

“Please,” the demon’s voice broke first, and Aziraphale couldn’t hold himself back anymore. He took Crowley gently back into his arms, manifested his wings and wrapped them around the pair of them as the other being sobbed silently into his chest. The angel said nothing, did nothing except hold his love tight until eventually Crowley’s breathing evened out. They were quiet for a while, content enough to lay together in the dark of early morning. We could have had this all along, Aziraphale thought, then dismissed the thought as unhelpful in this particular situation. Maggie was right. Punishing himself wasn’t going to make either of them feel better. Needing to do something, the angel pressed a kiss to the back of Crowley’s neck. Crowley, in turn, released a long, quiet sigh.

 “Thank you,” he murmured, voice thick. “For getting me out.” His long fingers squeezed Aziraphale’s arm. “For this.”

“You never have to thank me, for any of it,” Aziraphale whispered back, holding his demon a little tighter. “It’s no less than what you would have - than what you have done for me. And as for loving you, well-, I’m only sorry that it took me so long to show you properly. I’m going to do a much better job of it from now on. If you’ll allow me the opportunity that is.”

“’If I’ll allow it,’ he says,” Crowley scoffed. “As if I’m going to say no to getting everything I’ve ever-” He cut himself off abruptly and tightened his grip on Aziraphale’s arms sharply. It was almost painful

“Crowley?”

“Angel, please, you’ve gotta tell me again that this is real. When they had me, sometimes - for fun - they’d make me see what I want and then take it away or twist it into - and I’m - I’m so scared that I’m going to wake up from this and find out I’m still back there.”

“I swear that this is real, my darling demon, and if you’re ever unsure, all you have to do is ask me.”

There was a pause, and just as Aziraphale was going to say his name again, Crowley sighed again and said, “Okay. Okay, angel. Thanks.”

They drifted again for a while, after that. At some point, Crowley fell back to sleep but Aziraphale merely dozed until soft light started to bleed around the edges of the drawn shade. Taking care not to wake the sleeping demon, he tucked his wings back into the ether and went into the kitchen to put a kettle on. By the time he returned with two mugs of piping hot tea, Crowley was only starting to stir. Aziraphale tried to suppress a smile at the sight of Crowley’s adorably sleep-mussed hair sticking up at odd angels. One of his cheeks was slightly reddened from where it had been pillowed on Aziraphale’s arm.

“What?” Crowley asked groggily.

“Hmm? Oh.” We spent the night together. In the same bed, in each others’ arms. “Nothing really. I thought you might like some tea.”

“That - doesn’t sound like the worst idea in the world.” Crowley sat up in bed, accepted the offered mug, and took a sip. The tea was miraculously the perfect temperature, naturally. “Green? That’s not your usual blend.”

“I didn’t think that the amount caffeine in it would be the best idea for you right now.”

Crowley frowned lightly at the mug. “Meh. You’re probably right. ‘S too bad, though. I feel like I’ve been run over by the Bentley.”

“Do you think you could eat something? I could have Muriel run over to Nina’s and buy some pastries for us.”    

“Don’t feel like going yourself? You’ve been cooped up in the shop for weeks taking care of me. You should go get some air.”

“I can’t.”

“What do you mean, you can’t?”

“Well, neither of us can, really. It hadn’t been an issue before but I suppose now is as good a time as any to tell you. If we leave this bookshop, Heaven will be able to find us unless we go somewhere protected. And the wards I’ve set here won’t last forever. I can already feel Heaven testing them. I was going to tell you when you were feeling better.”

“We could go to my flat.”

Aziraphale shook his head. “Shax lived there for too long. It wouldn’t be wholly yours anymore. The Bentley would be more appropriate in that respect -”

“But it was cramped even with one person living in it.” Crowley looked thoughtful for a moment, and then fidgeted with the blanket on the bed nervously. “What about. What about a place that’s ours? Even if we never lived in it. But it was intended to be ours?”

“Yes, I think that would work.”

“Then I think I know of a place we could go and lay low together. Can I use your phone?”

Chapter Text

The demon didn’t tell him where they were going as he dialed an unfamiliar (to the angel) number into Aziraphale’s land line, offered his hand, and pulled them both through the connection. The angel held tight to his demon’s hand as they sailed through the rushing stream of atoms. The particles lit up around them like starlight. Aziraphale marveled, but Crowley’s face remained deadly serious. After a short trip, their various particles exited and were reassembled in what could only be described as a library crossed with a solarium. Light flooded in through immaculately clean gallery windows, bathing dozens and dozens of the most beautiful plants Aziraphale had ever seen. The soft gray walls were lined with bookshelf after bookshelf, all of which were empty.

“Crowley, where are we? What is this place?” The demon muttered something in response that Aziraphale couldn’t quite hear. “I’m sorry. What was that?”

“It’s a cottage,” Crowley gritted out. “In the South Downs. I bought it.”

“When did you-” Aziraphale tried to ask. His corporeal brain was apparently having trouble putting sentences together at the moment.

“A few months after the Apocalypse, when we were still settling in to being free of our old sides. I thought, maybe - maybe there was a chance you’d be willing to give us a go. If I didn’t rush you.”

“Crowley, you were living out of your car! Why didn’t you come here?”

“It wouldn’t have felt right. Like I said, I bought this thinking - maybe we could come here together someday.”

“Oh. Oh my dear, dear Crowley.” Aziraphale’s eyes welled with tears, which annoyingly blurred the incredible site he was trying to take in. He dabbed the moisture away with a conveniently conjured handkerchief and looked around in awe.

“There’s the library, obviously. And there’s a big garden out back that needs to be shown who’s in charge. A decent kitchen, if either of us ever decide we want to learn how to cook. I know it’s not Heaven, and it’s definitely not Eden, but I thought - Argh, this was a stupid idea. I’m sorry Aziraphale, I shouldn’t have -”

Whatever Crowley should have done instead was cut short by Aziraphale pressing his lips against Crowley and backing him carefully into the wall between two of the empty bookcases. Crowley seized his lapels and pulled him in even closer, which Aziraphale hadn’t thought possible. One of his seeking hands looped around Crowley’s waist, the other threading through the demon’s stunning auburn hair. He kept kissing Crowley until all of the remaining tension had bled out of his lanky frame, and then some.

“So. So this will do, then?” Crowley pulled away just enough to whisper.

“Crowley, it’s perfect,” Aziraphale whispered back.

The next few days were a flurry of phone calls and activity. A good portion of Aziraphale’s personal collection was packed in boxes with the help of their friends, and Muriel agreed to guard the rest of it. They were still technically under orders to run the bookshop, after all. “Will you be alright?” Aziraphale asked the scrivener as they worked. “Once we’re gone, the wards I’ve placed won’t last long. You’ve been such a good friend to us, I don’t want to put you in any more danger.” Even now the wards were wearing thin. He could feel every attack Heaven made against them now. The sooner they relocated to the cottage, the better.

“Oh, that’s alright. I don’t think I’m important enough for them to consider making an example of. And I’ve been talking to Maggie and Nina about it and they’ve helped me plan.”

“We said to say you were holding them hostage,” Nina shouted over a stack of first edition Thomas Hardys.

Aziraphale laughed. “I supposed that’s only fair. I do hope you’ll come and visit us when you can. Crowley and I would be sad to lose your friendship.”

Muriel beamed. “No one told me about friends when I was in Heaven. This might be my favorite part of existing on Earth. Of course I’ll visit!”

A few more days saw the books and their most precious possessions were loaded into a moving van. Maggie and Nina would drive the van and meet them at the cottage. Aziraphale and Crowley themselves traveled by phone again. They hadn’t been reconstituted more than a few moments when there was a knock on the front door. Crowley nodded to Aziraphale and went to answer the door, while the angel rolled up his sleeves to prepare for the necessary rituals. He heard the sound of the door opening, and then Crowley’s exclamation of, “Book girl! Great Beast! Everyone else! Come on it.”

Crowley came back into the room followed in short order by Anathema and Newt Device and nearly-grown-up versions of Adam Young and his friends from the airbase. Aziraphale paused his preparations to go greet them. “Thank you all for being here! It’s wonderful to see everyone again.”

“I think we were all a little surprised to hear from you after so long,” Anathema replied, “But I have so many questions for you both.”

“Like, what’s this big cryptic secret you need our help with?” Adam interjected with a grin. “You were pretty vague on the phone.”

“Oi, manners!” Crowley gave the former Antichrist his best intimidating glare, which didn’t seem to affect him in the slightest. “Just because your the literal spawn of Satan doesn’t give you an excuse to be rude.”

“It’s quite alright, Adam,” Aziraphale cut in, gently laying a hand on the demon’s shoulder. Crowley relaxed a fraction. “I apologize for keeping you in the dark on what’s going on, but it was for your safety. You see, Heaven is after both of us and I’m afraid they want to have another go at ending the world.”

The effect of his words on the humans was immediate. Newt blanched but stood firm next to Anathema, who squared her shoulders. Brian and Wensleydale gave each other wary glances while Pepper balled her hands into fists and glowered. Adam just smiled again, and Aziraphale suppressed a shudder. “You think they would have learned after the first time,” the son of the devil sighed. “Right. How can we help you stop them?”

“My dear boy, I’m so glad you asked.”

Chapter Text

Aziraphale and Anathema worked in the library of the cottage while Crowley herded everyone else outside. The demon was keeping the rest of the party busy showing them his plans for the back gardens while the angel and the occultist prepared for the ritual.

“So you and the ‘wily old serpent’ are finally together together?” Anathema asked as she chalked the sigil Aziraphale pointed to onto the polished floor.

Aziraphale grimaced at the question. “Were we really that obvious?” The retired professional descendant only gave him a flat look. The angel laughed. “Yes, I suppose we were. Except maybe to each other. Or maybe I just was.”

“Hey, you don’t have to beat yourself up about it. You both got there in the end.” She looked out of the one windows to where Newt watched in horror as Crowley yelled viciously at an unruly patch of ornamental grasses. “In my experience, it doesn’t really matter how.”

“Thank you my dear. Now, I think we’re nearly ready. Let’s call the others back in.”

Maggie and Nina walked through the front door just as everyone else was getting settled in the library again. Just as introductions were winding down and Aziraphale was about to explain properly what was going on, Muriel burst into the room, looking even more ruffled than usual.

“Um, Aziraphale, Crowley, I have a - well, it’s a little difficult to explain. With all the, you know. Humans?”

“Muriel!” Aziraphale called to them cheerily. “You’re right on time, my dear. Come in.”

“You were expecting me?”

“I was,” he replied, as the other angel came into the room carrying, of all things, a picnic hamper.

Crowley whipped off his sunglasses despite the crowd present. “Angel, is that-”

“It very much is, darling. Actually, it was your experience delivering the Antichrist that gave me the idea.”

“Saraquel dropped this off at the bookshop with instructions that I was supposed to deliver them to you here.” Words tumbled out of Muriel’s mouth at a near-panicked rate.

“Ooohh, that is GOOD!” Crowley crowed. Everyone other than Aziraphale still just looked confused. “You clever, clever angel. How did you manage it?”

“My last official act as Supreme Archangel,” Aziraphale beamed at the praise from his demon. “I had the proper clearance, so I made a few alterations to the delivery location. Apparently no-one thought to double check after I resigned.”

“You were always to good for them” Crowley crooned, as Nina and Adam shouted simultaneously: “Will someone please tell us what is going on?”

“Heaven still wants to end the world, and this is how they’re going to do it,” Crowley said animatedly, pointing  at the hamper still in Muriel’s hands.

“They’re going to end the world with a picnic?” Newt asked. A high wail issued from the hamper. Everyone froze.

Aziraphale went over to Muriel and held out his hand. Muriel gave him the basket, and he set it gently on the ground, opened the lid and extracted a small squirming bundle.

“Sweet Jesus,” Nina whispered, and took Maggie’s hand.

“Exactly,” Aziraphale nodded. “Although I think they’ll have a different name for this go around.” He walked over to the cafe owner and her girlfriend with the infant. “At least, if you want to give them one.”

“What exactly are you saying, Mr. Fell?” Maggie asked.

“He wants us to raise the literal second coming of Christ,” Nina said quietly before Aziraphale or Crowley could answer.

Both women were silent for a moment, and then Maggie said, “Well, we had been talking about adopting.

“A cat. We had been talking about adopting a cat,” Nina interjected, but her voice was gentle, and she was still looking at the bundle with a soft expression Aziraphale couldn’t quite place. Wistfulness perhaps. He knew so little about them really; Maggie and Nina, these other gathered friends. Maybe this would be an opportunity to fix that, as well.

“It wouldn’t be forever,” Aziraphale stepped closer. The baby in his arms gurgled. “And you wouldn’t be alone. But only if you’re absolutely certain this is something that you’d want to do-”

“We’ll take them,” Nina said at once, and held out her arms. Aziraphale carefully placed the Second Coming in her embrace. Maggie huddled in close, cooing at the baby and glancing at her partner every few seconds with a tearful smile.

“We’ll take them,” the record shop proprietor echoed.

“Is this what happened with me,” Adam’s voice, quiet and reflective now, broke through the tableau. Crowley turned to him.

“Yes,” the demon answered. “And that’s what I think Aziraphale is counting on, right?” The angel nodded. Crowley continued, “We’d intended to take a more active role in your education, but things took an - unexpected turn. But that meant you were raised to be human incarnate, like we told you at the airbase.”

“So now you’re hoping to do that again. On purpose,” Adam concluded.

“We’d still keep our distance, although perhaps not as much,” Aziraphale said and turned to Crowley. “What do you think about giving being godfathers another go?”

“If you’re standing next to me, I’m up for pretty much anything, angel.”

      The protection spell was the last piece to set in place, now that Maggie and Nina had agreed to raise the Second Coming. The runes and sigils Anathema had helped him set up were designed to ground miracles and then amplify them, but without using heavenly or hellish power. The hope was that Aziraphale and Crowley would be able to draw on that power and use it to hide the child, their human friends, and themselves until the final confrontation with Heaven arrived without alerting the Host like they had with Jim. The twelve beings - Aziraphale, Crowley, Muriel, Nina (holding the baby), Maggie, Adam, the Them, Anathema, and Newt - assembled on the chalk circle around the sigils, and joined hands. The air in the room turned heavy and silent as Aziraphale and Crowley tied their own reserves of power to the earthly energy drawn up from the circle, shaped it to match their purpose, and sent a miraculous burst through the circuit they created.

Crowley let go of Aziraphale’s hand to run a finger through the air overhead. The demon smiled. “I really think it worked this time.”

Numbers were exchanged, a call tree was established, and the first few visits were planned. It all felt so wonderfully - human. The humans themselves departed. Aziraphale made sure, while the circle was still intact and operational, to miracle a stash of baby supplies back at Maggie and Nina’s place that would grow and change as the child did. It was the very least he could do. Muriel volunteered to return to the bookshop and take care of Aziraphale’s collection and keep an eye on the newly expanded family, and to pass on any rumblings from Heaven that might come their way. The angel was almost sorry to see them all go, but was comforted by the knowledge that he’d see them all again soon. And that now he had Crowley all to himself.

The demon in question had collapsed in an exhausted heap on the well-loved sofa. Aziraphale smiled, warmth blooming in his chest at the sight. “Think I might need a nap,” Crowley mumbled as Aziraphale approached.

“It’s been a long day.”

“Won’t sleep too long, promise. A month or two tops.”

“Don’t worry, my darling, I’ll be here when you wake up. Now, let’s get you into bed.”

There was the distinct possibility that Crowley slept in. Coming back to consciousness was like floating upwards in calm water. Not at all like being ripped awake by the nightmares that plagued him since being freed from Heaven’s clutches. A plush mattress swathed in airy sheets supported him as he cuddled something warm and soft.

“Good morning, my love,” Aziraphale said, and kissed him fully into wakefulness and then some.

In the days between then and the eventual (and ultimately successfully averted) Second Coming, there would be more kissing, gardening, visits with friends who were more like family, rainy afternoons listening to Aziraphale read from Jane Austen, delicious meals shared together, gentle touches after bad dreams that always seemed to lead to making love. And through it all both the angel and the demon saw that it was good. It was good, and it was safe, and it was home.

The end.